‘Had we the keys,’ said Clym of the Clough,
‘Ryght wel then shoulde we spede,
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we se tyme and nede.’
LXV
They callèd the porter to counsell,
And wrang his necke in two,
And caste hym in a depe dungeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.
LXVI
‘Now am I porter,’ sayd Adam Bell,
‘Se, brother, the keys are here!
The worst porter to merry Carleile
That ye had thys hundred yere.
LXVII
‘And now wyll we our bowès bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,
For to delyver our dere brothèr,
That lyeth in care and wo.’
LXVIII
Then they bent theyr good yew bowes,
And lokèd theyr stringes were round[676],
The market-place of mery Carleile
They beset in that stound[677].